Fred Astaire
by Ashlee Pond
Summary: Rory's been thinking lately that Amy doesn't need him anymore. How is a nurse from boring old Leadworth ever meant to compete with the Raggedy Doctor, who can jump in his time and space machine and take her anywhere she asks him to?


**a.n. **based on the song Fred Astaire by San Cisco.  
set in Series 5, from immediately after Vampires in Venice to immediately before Amy's Choice.

* * *

They're lying in bed on the TARDIS, the morning after Venice and that debacle with those weird fish vampire things, which Rory is trying very hard to forget about, when Amy rolls over and snuggles into his side.

Well, perhaps a more apt phrase would be 'she snuggles _closer _into his side', as they've had to cram themselves both onto the bottom bunk and were pretty snuggly to begin with. He wonders for a moment about the symbolism of that, wonders if the Doctor was trying to prevent this very snuggling from happening by giving them separate mattresses where they would be completely out of sight of one another.

"Did you miss me?" she asks, coy and innocent.

He feels as though she's just stabbed him in the chest, but his hand instinctively winds it's way up her back and into her hair anyway.

"Well, to be fair, from my perspective you weren't even gone one night."

She pulls back and props herself up on one elbow. "Is that a no?"

He chances a look at her pursed lips and bright eyes flashing with the Scottish temper, and hurriedly amends, with a tired sigh, "Of course I missed you."

She smiles contently and makes a quiet, pleased sort of humming noise as she settles back under his arm. "That's what I thought," she purrs.

Rory wants to ask her if she missed him, but he's too afraid of the answer.

[..]

Amy and the Doctor have just gone dashing back into the TARDIS, shrieking and shouting with long limbs flailing in a manner that doesn't look all that conducive for speedy footwork but seems to be working quite well. Rory, on the other hand, is trailing behind, and can feel the ground shaking with the oncoming hoard of aliens pursuing him.

It's all a bit unfortunate, he thinks, in the dire seconds where it seems he's not going to reach the doors in time and the aliens are going to grab him and eat him and that's it, 21 year old Rory Williams from Leadworth is going to die here on some alien planet with a name he can't pronounce 7,000 years into the future, while his fiancée runs away with an alien in a bowtie. That's just swell.

But then a slender, pale hand is reaching out the doors and grabbing him by the shirt front and he's being pulled to safety. He stumbles forward, propelled by the unexpected force of Amy's grip, and she slams the doors shut behind him.

"Go!" she shouts to the Doctor, who gladly sends them flying off into the vortex and away from whatever-the-hell those things are outside. She asks Rory, "You alright?"

He's still catching his breath, so he just nods, once, twice, grips his knees and doubles over to breathe.

"Bit of a close call there, Rory!" the Doctor calls down from the centre console, where he's fiddling with a string of buttons that Rory's pretty sure don't actually do anything.

Amy, apparently content with the knowledge that he hasn't had any limbs chewed off – never mind the fact that he still can't quite breathe properly – flits off up the stairs and drapes an arm over the time lord's shoulders.

"That was an adventure," she says, as though she had a right old laugh being captured as an intended sacrifice for the deity of a cannibalistic race of aliens who looked rather like monkeys with the teeth of sharks.

"I'll say!" the Doctor agrees, turning to plant a kiss on her forehead that Rory straightens up just in time to see. He's simmering quietly when the Doctor turns to him and points, saying with a smile, "Slowed us down a bit there, Rory! Was it the extra weight of your nose, do you think?"

To her credit, Amy punches the Doctor rather hard in the arm – hard enough to make him wince, anyway. But to her discredit, she throws the punch while stifling a laugh.

Rory wants to complain about how the Doctor has two hearts, more oxygenation in his blood stream, a stronger cardiovascular system leading to better cardio. He wants to point out that Amy has, _apparently, _been doing this whole running away from hostile aliens thing for much longer than he has, and that she has an unfair advantage. But Rory is a passive person, who saves his anger for when he can use it to make a change for the good of things, and so he doesn't say anything.

He just mumbles that he's tired and wanders meekly past them, shuffling down the hall to where he thinks their bedroom should be. He half expects Amy to follow him, but of course she doesn't. He hears the Doctor say something, probably a joke at Rory's expense, and his fiancée's laughter follows him until he reaches the solitude of their room. He climbs up onto the top bunk and faces the wall, wondering why he ever thought a nurse from Leadworth could compete with the Raggedy Doctor in the TARDIS.

[..]

Rory's cooked them a big English breakfast and laid it out on some fancy china plates the TARDIS provided, poured her favourite kind of orange juice – not the pulpy one, the pulp is gross and the people who drink it are weird, she says – and boiled the kettle for a cup of tea. Everything is set, and he's just placing a rose in the small vase in the centre of round table when Amy wanders in.

She's rubbing sleep from her eyes and sniffs appreciatively before she even sees what's he done.

"Oh my god, Rory!" she says once she's awake enough to register the scene. She launches herself forward and wraps her arms around him, hugging him tightly, and he smiles into her hair. "What's all this for?"

"Just for you," he says with a modest shrug – that's how Rory does a lot of things, _modestly. _"To say thanks."

"Thanks for what?"

She's already settling in at the far side of the table, grabbing up her cutlery and scooping a large serve of scrambled eggs onto her buttered toast.

"I dunno…" he hesitates here, wonders if he should say anything or if he should just let the moment be. But he decides that it needs to be said, so he takes a breath for courage and says, "For coming back for me."

She chews an un-proportionately large bite of sausage contemplatively and then informs him, "Well, it was really the Doctor's idea, you know." He most certainly did not know, and he imagines that she's said it to make him feel better, but it's actually made him feel a lot worse. She must sense his distress, because she adds, through her mouthful of food, "But, like, I wanted you here too. Obviously."

"Obviously," he mutters as he slides out the chair opposite her and sits down.

He's lost his appetite, suddenly.

Not to worry though, because, as always, the Doctor is there to help.

"Speak of the devil," Amy says by way of greeting as he strolls into the kitchen, whistling a jaunty little tune.

The time lord blinks at her and then picks up a rasher of bacon from Rory's plate and puts the whole thing in his mouth at once.

"Eugh!" he exclaims suddenly, sticking his tongue out – with the bacon still on top – and rushing over to the kitchen sink. "Eugh, eugh, yuck, bacon! Disgusting stuff, ew. Are you trying to kill me, Rory?"

Rory is slightly offended, but Amy is smiling with fond exasperation, as though this is some kind of inside joke between the two of them. And then Rory remembers. The Raggedy Doctor with his apples and yoghurt and bacon and bread and butter. The night they ate fish fingers and custard. The night Amelia decided she was going to run away in the police telephone box time machine.

"Hurry up and finish your breakfast!" the Doctor says once he's rinsed his mouth out by drinking Rory's entire glass of orange juice in one gulp. "I just got a call from the Empress of the Castenoble Galaxy. She needs our help rounding up some wayward space worms – even grosser than they sound, I promise – and it's a bit urgent. That's the way!" He pats Rory on the back, grabs a slice of his toast, and wanders out of the kitchen.

"Well," Amy says, polishing off her scrambled eggs and the last of her orange juice. "You heard him, let's go wrangle ourselves some space worms!"

She stands, kisses Rory on the cheek, and traipses off after the Doctor. Just as she was always going to do.

[..]

"So what made you propose, Rory?" the Doctor enquires one night when they're all seated in the comfortable poolside chairs of the library.

Rory looks up and doesn't answer at first, because it's such a weirdly intimate question from the time lord and he's not sure if he's asking to make fun of him.

"Uh…" he begins when he sees the Doctor is waiting earnestly for a reply, "I don't know, really. I think I just realised that I didn't want to go a day without seeing Amy. That maybe we were…" here he stops, clears his throat and coughs, embarrassed by what he's about to say, "meant to be."

"_Boring,_" the Doctor says in sing-song, drawing out the 'o' for far longer than is necessary. "I mean, _why her_?"

"Gee, thanks," Amy grunts, kicking his thigh from her perch up the other end of the lounge the two of them occupy.

"You know what I mean," the Doctor grumbles, rubbing his leg tenderly. "There are plenty of other girls out there. I'm sure Rory's had his fair share of admirers over the years. _So_, why you, why Amy Pond?"

Now he's sure the Doctor's having him on.

Amy's laughing to herself, probably at the thought of Rory having female admirers, and he can feel the tips of his ears going red.

"Well, I mean… She's perfect, to me. And I love her," he says, somewhat desperately, "Isn't that enough?"

The Doctor sends him a scrupulous look over the cover of the giant book he's been thumbing through. "I suppose," he says. And then he lifts the tome so that he's hidden from Rory's view.

[..]

"I wish you'd let me wear it out," Amy's saying, holding her engagement ring up to the light and watching it sparkle.

"So you can lose it? No, no thank you," Rory replies, shaking his head to emphasise how wrong she is. "I spent way too many hours in the hospital saving up for that ring, it needs to be cherished and protected."

Amy scoffs. "I could cherish it a lot better if it was on my finger, where it belongs."

"Amy," he says, almost a whine.

She relents with a sigh. "_Fine, _go put it back in the room."

She carefully places the golden band back in its little velvet cushion, shutting the lid of the red box with a soft, comforting thud. She hands it to Rory and he stands to go return the ring to its rightful place in their bedroom.

"If you want a ring to wear out, Pond, I've got a drawer full of them in the wardrobe," the Doctor supplies from the swing on the lower level.

Amy hangs her head over the edge of the glass floor to peer at him upside down. "Why do you have a draw of diamond rings?"

"Oh, you know," he says offhandedly, "I've had a few accidental marriages. Can never have too many diamond rings. Well, I say that, but you probably can. Perhaps more than one is too much… Oh well. Anyway, point is, there's a drawer of them in the wardrobe if you want to wear one out. You know, for symbolism."

"You hear that Rory?" Amy calls, rolling over to grin at him. "The Doctor's offered me a ring that I'm allowed to wear outside."

"Only because it doesn't have sentimental value," he retorts, a bit more venomously than he intended.

For a second Amy seems worried by his tone, and her expression drops to something like concern. But then she's standing up and brushing herself off and prancing away, calling over her shoulder, "I don't have to wear one, you know, if you're happy with people assuming I'm single."

Rory bites his tongue.

"If you don't want a ring, I could get you something else," the Doctor says absentmindedly. "On the planet Hazrod, for example, married couples show their status by wearing pointed hats. Would you like a pair of those? Or maybe you could go with the Janerist tradition of painting a blue line across your cheeks for every day you've been engaged? Of course, they do tend to have very short engagements, and very large faces… Maybe that won't work for you…. Anyway, I could get you anything. So have a think!"

Rory huffs out, "Thanks, Doctor. I think we're fine with this ring, though."

"Suit yourself," the time lord replies, going back to his tinkering with vigour.

Rory clenches the wooden ring box tightly in his hand and takes it back to their room for safekeeping.

[..]

"Where do you want to go for our honeymoon?" he asks while they're lounging in a botanical garden in 1990s Australia, watching a couple say 'I do' under an arch of brightly coloured flowers down the end of the park.

"Oh," Amy says, picking at a tuft of green grass at the edge of their picnic rug, "I haven't really thought about it."

"Oh." Rory tries not to sound disappointed, and somewhat succeeds. "What about Thailand?"

"Thailand? No, no, Rory, that's not a honeymoon destination," the Doctor says, settling down behind them on the rug. "No, you need somewhere more romantic than that."

"Like… France!" Amy exclaims.

"Isn't that a bit… cliché?" Rory enquires. He's met with two glares, and cowers back. "Alright, sorry."

"It's not cliché," Amy tuts, "It's the most romantic city in the world."

"And that's what makes it a cliché," Rory mutters.

"Well," the Doctor says, "last time we wanted romantic we went for Venice, and look how that turned out. Maybe France will be a safer option."

Rory's not convinced, but Amy's latched onto the idea with enthusiasm. "Oh, can you imagine? The Eifel Tower, candle-lit dinners, romantic music…"

"We could go now, you know," the Doctor says with a grin. "Pick a century, and we can go and visit France!"

"Sorry, weren't we just talking about our _honeymoon_?" Rory tries to remind them both, but he worries it's a lost cause now.

"Ohh, yeah, why haven't we thought of that before? I can't believe we've never been to France, Doctor! You'll have to take us there. I've always wanted to see the Musee d'Orsay. In 2010 they have this great Van Gogh exhibition, we should totally go see that! Wouldn't that be awesome, Rory?"

He musters a smile, for Amy's sake. "Yeah, that'd be great."

[..]

Muse is blasting out of the TARDIS speakers and Amy and Rory are doing their best air guitar solos when the Doctor starts waltzing around the centre console.

Amy drops the air guitar to watch him twirl and giggles. "I didn't know you could dance, Doctor."

"I love to dance, Amy," he replies, side stepping down the staircase and sweeping her into his arms. "Surely you didn't think that, after 900 years, I wouldn't have picked up a few moves?"

He dips her low, and Rory watches in awkward silence as their faces hover far too close together before he plants her back on her feet and spins her out into Rory's arms.

"Well, you're going to have to dance at our wedding then," she says, smiling up at Rory in a placating manner.

"Don't want to overshadow the first dance," the Doctor teases, grinning at them.

Amy scoffs and turns her face into Rory's shoulder. "With those bow legs, there's no chance of that."

The Doctor doesn't hear her, because he's already danced his way back up to the console to turn the music down, but Rory smiles and kisses her hair for the sentiment.

[..]

Rory walks in to the console room after a shower to see the Doctor shirtless and Amy with both of her palms spread over his chest. They're perched in the jump seat, Amy kneeling between the time lord's knees, and he's so stunned by the sight of it that for a second Rory can't even be angry, because all his body can register is the complete and utter shock.

"Mmm, I can feel it," Amy's saying, looking intensely into the Doctor's eyes.

Rory clears his throat, and the Doctor springs to his feet so fast that he sends Amy sprawling back over the glass floor.

"Rory!" he exclaims, face already flushing red. He begins to speak, a steady stream of a speech at a really quite impressive pace, "Rory, uh, you're here, good! Amy was just helping me with – I think I've got a bit of a heart issue, lefty seems to be lagging a little bit – You know, need both hearts working in tip top shape if I want to get anything done properly, can't just have one flat-lining on me, haha, no, that's really quite dangerous. And so and she was – Amy, that is, Amy, your girlfriend, I mean fiancée, Amy, little Amelia, such a good friend, was just checking if there was an issue or if I was being paranoid…"

Amy, for her part, is still on the floor. Her hair's flipped up over her face so he can't see her expression, but Rory can gather enough from her posture to realise that she's got the grace to be embarrassed by this situation. He spies the stethoscope she's clutching in her right hand, silver almost blending in with the struts supporting the floor, and he believes what the Doctor's saying.

"Okay," Rory says, holding up a hand to stop the time lord's rambling. "Alright, she was checking your heart beats. It's fine."

Except it's not fine, because he shouldn't have to worry about chemistry like this, but he is and he does and he doesn't think it's normal for 'best friends' to have knocked down as many boundaries as the Doctor and Amy seem to have done.

He turns around just as Amy straightens up and gets her hair out of her eyes, and by the time she's recovered enough to scramble to her feet and call after him, he's half way down the hall.

"Rory!" she calls out, but he's covered enough distance now to be able to pretend he hasn't heard her. "Rory, wait! Come back!"

[..]

It's simple enough when he finally manages to say it, finally manages to put into words everything that he's been feeling since the moment the Doctor popped out of the cake at his stag party.

"I don't think you need me anymore."

Amy stops with her spoon half way to her mouth, milk spilling awkwardly over the side and splashing back into her cereal. "What?"

"You don't really need me anymore, do you? Not when you've got all this." He makes a wide gesture, meant to encompass the TARDIS as a whole, and sighs sadly. "Why would you still want me?"

She drops her spoon back into her bowl with a clatter and milk slops out onto the table top. "Of course I still want you!"

"It's okay, Amy," he says tiredly, "You don't need to lie to protect my feelings."

"Rory, shut up," she snaps, and when he looks up he sees that she's leaning forward, earnestly searching his eyes for a clue as to what's brought this on. She genuinely doesn't seem to know. "What's wrong, why are you saying this?"

"Because… Because I just seem to be ruining things," he tries to explain. "You and the Doctor, you're a team, and you've travelled together and I -"

"And you are part of our team now," she cuts him off sternly. "Jesus, Rory, if I didn't want you here do you think I would have gone back to get you?"

He blinks at her, memories from that ruined breakfast weeks ago coming to the forefront of his mind. "But I thought it was the Doctor's idea…"

"Well, yeah, it was the Doctor's idea. But I could have stopped him. If I really hadn't wanted to go get you, he wouldn't have. I thought you knew that…?"

"No," he's shaking his head, hard. "No, I didn't know that."

She clasps his hand across the table, mopping up the spilt milk with her sleeve in the process. "Well that's the truth. Of course I want you here, Rory! I asked you to stay after Venice, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but I thought you were just… being nice…"

She rolls her eyes. "When have I ever done something I don't want to for the sake of being nice?"

He smiles at that. "Right, yeah. Should have thought of that."

"Yeah, you should have, stupid. _You're _the one I'm marrying, not the Doctor."

She squeezes his hand tightly, reassuring, and he squeezes hers back.

"Ponds!" the Doctor cries, skidding into the kitchen and nearly flipping over the bench. "Ponds, there you are! Hurry up, I've just got a call and we're needed on Karass Don Slava, something's happening to their Candle Meadows."

Amy meets her fiancé's eye and winks, and Rory grins back at her so brightly it almost hurts his cheeks.

She tosses her hair over her shoulder and sighs, "Really, Doctor, can't it wait? Rory and I are having breakfast."


End file.
